


of gaps and ghosts

by prattery



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ghosts, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, halloween-y stuff, steve and bucky have issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prattery/pseuds/prattery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Steve?” Bucky whispers, “is that you?”</p><p>The wind says nothing in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of gaps and ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> bc halloween

This is what Bucky knows: a celebrated national hero like Captain America should never be associated with the cold, ruthless assassin who has murdered countless people without an ounce of mercy and committed innumerable treason against the United States. Someone as good as Steve Rogers should never be acquainted with someone as sinister as the Winter Soldier. (Steve looks so miserable these days, and though what Bucky wants is to erase Steve’s miserable expression, he convinces himself that distancing himself from Steve would do some good.)

 

This is what Steve tells himself: everything that happened to Bucky was his fault. He should’ve caught Bucky’s hand, if only he reached out a little farther because if he had, every terrible thing that happened to Bucky after the fall would never come to be.

 

Between Bucky’s self-flagellation and Steve’s guilt, a rift grows between them. They grow distant, the ice beneath their feet growing ever thinner. Bucky doesn’t voice the reason why he needs some time away from Steve and Steve doesn’t press, accepting Bucky’s decision even though it pains him to do so, for fear of severing whatever thin thread still holding them both together. Maybe there will be time to mend their relationship later.

 

They still work together when the situation calls for it, though, just not as seamlessly as it used to be back then. They still largely gravitate around one another when they are in the same room, because some things remain the same.

  

* * *

 

Nobody expected the mission to go so horribly wrong.

 

There is fire all around him. Smoke trails behind his footsteps, curling and snaking around his ankles, chasing him as he sprints as fast as his feet could carry, dodging falling fixtures and beams along the way. The heat is starting to suffocate him and he does his best not to panic, not to expend precious oxygen and focus to get out of there.

 

“Rogers,” he calls into his earpiece. “Rogers, do you copy?”

 

He manages to leap out of the building just before the door collapses in on itself, and there should be relief flooding in but instead there’s this horrible, sinking feeling that everything is wrong. There is radio silence.

 

“Rogers, are you out of the base?” He calls again, frantic now. “Steve, please, do you copy?”

 

The comms crackle in his ears and then there is Steve’s voice, soft and barely audible above the sputtering of the fire and the groan of the slowly collapsing building as its construction begins to fail. “Are you out of here?”

 

Bucky is immediately transported to another scene, several decades ago. Another fire, another gap to bridge. “Yes. Where are you?”

 

“I’m out.”

 

Steve doesn’t lie, but he doesn’t mention that he has been shot either, because he's Steve. The moment Bucky sees him on the ground, he stops breathing. There are two spots of dark red stain on his abdomen, quickly spreading.

 

He approaches Steve with cautious steps and crouches next to Steve, who is looking at him like Bucky is everything Steve ever wanted. His lips quirk upward slightly—it’s the smile that Bucky has always been very fond of and it’s the one smile Steve doesn’t direct to anyone else. Steve’s eyes scan his face rapidly, and his eyes are already glassy. 

 

“Listen to me,” Steve exhales, pulling Bucky close with all the energy he is able to muster. “I’m sorry.”

 

He is gazing at Bucky like Bucky is the last thing he ever wants to see. There is relief there, along with a measure of contentment. His eyes are wild as they seek out Bucky’s, and there is desperation colouring Steve’s frail voice when he speaks. “I’m sorry,” Steve repeats. “For everything that happened to you. Bucky, I’m so, so, sorry.”

 

Bucky feels cold. He shakes his head violently, because this is just wrong. So many things have gone wrong, not only on this mission but also with them. What has Bucky done to make Steve think that it was his fault? “No, Steve—“

 

There is hurt in Steve’s eyes, but before Bucky could clarify what he means, the light goes out completely.

 

* * *

 

He dreams of Steve, always hairbreadth too far, always slightly out of reach. His face is always so forlorn. The dreams always bleed the same; into the vision of Steve’s eyes, searching Bucky’s face and flitting wildly as if to commit every inch of his face into his last brain before it shuts down. The ghost of his voice, of one word chasing the next, all tumbling quickly out of his lips in his rush to get Bucky to listen, one last time—

 

It was always that same litany of apology and Bucky wants to yell at him piling the weight of the world on his shoulders, for taking the blame for things he couldn’t control.

 

He always wakes trembling with grief and heavy with regret, face wet. The worst feeling comes from knowing Steve had died thinking that Bucky actively avoids him because he _abhors_ him and that he has something to apologise for.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes he thinks he can hear the soft scratching sound of charcoal etching on paper. Every so often he would see Steve in the crowd, only for him to disappear or blend into another person when he looks closer. The wind would caress his cheek, and it feels like gentle hands, and he thinks maybe he’s finally breaking.

 

Some suggest that it’s only hallucination, but he knows he doesn’t just imagine the glint of gold strand he sometimes catches a glimpse of when he out under the sun, doesn’t just imagine the feeling of someone watching over him. He knows that the incidents that allow him to finish missions unscathed can’t be blind luck. He can feel a presence protecting him, and it almost feels like Steve. Others would say that maybe it’s because Steve’s soul is in a state of unrest because Steve had died thinking that he still owes Bucky an apology.

 

(Bucky doesn't want Steve to leave, if it  _is_ Steve, but he knows better.)

 

* * *

 

“Steve?” Bucky whispers, his small croak barely audible. “Is that you?”

 

The wind says nothing in return.

 

* * *

 

Bucky can’t see.

 

His vision blurs with tears and he chokes on air, throat constricting and he is gasping for breath after each heavy sob that rips out of his chest. He curses himself, desperately wishing that he cherished every moment he had with Steve, every second Steve was beside him. (If only he’d known.)

 

“You’re a punk,” Bucky breathes to deaf ears, shattered, feeble. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He couldn’t face Steve back then, and now he’s gone. “For what it’s worth, you’re forgiven.”

 

Perhaps he only imagines the touch of ice on his forehead. It feels like goodbye.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is unbeta-ed and written in one sitting and sorry for all the mistakes
> 
> come cry with me on twitter @theredskuII


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